


i am neither a saint or savior... just a sinner

by morningham



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Blasphemy, Burning, Choking, M/M, Priest!Chrollo, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Rough Sex, demon!hisoka
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:00:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26840281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morningham/pseuds/morningham
Summary: “This is a house of God.” Chrollo can feel a hot tear tracking down his cheek, mixing with the blood on his face, and the demon smiles wider.“I used to rule this place.”
Relationships: Hisoka/Kuroro Lucifer | Chrollo Lucifer
Comments: 10
Kudos: 66





	i am neither a saint or savior... just a sinner

**Author's Note:**

> well. when i get to hell i’m goin to first and foremost punch ronald regan in the face. i really hope ya’ll enjoy this, it’s been bouncing around in my evil little head for months :) 
> 
> pps: title is from FF14’s heavensward expansion because... how fitting 
> 
> (( alternate title is also: how chrollo got his tattoo and last name according to morri ))

The church is silent. Chrollo relishes in the silence, rare as it was. The bells loom above him in their towers, nestled high in the rafters, and they will sing their song soon enough. They are the rooster in this village, brassy vibrato calling for all to rise and worship. He trails his fingers across his rosary, winding through pews and flicking away dust neglected by the groundskeeper. He’s quite enjoying the silence, the flames dancing across orante gold sculpting. It’s still and time feels frozen. He hears the door creak, rain pattering outside as a figure huddled in the doorway.

“Come in, my child!” Chrollo doesn't dare turn the stranger back out into the storm. He supposes it’s a lost traveler in need of direction, and like a shepherd to his flock Chrollo will send him back to his rightful place.

“Thank you, Father.” The man shuffles in, dark and cloak dripping muddy water across the wood floor. Chrollo peers at him, catches a glimpse of hellfire red hair beneath the hooded garments the stranger has wrapped himself in.

“May I help you?” The man smiled, sharp and unsettling, pushing back his cloak across his shoulders.

“I haven’t been here in so long.” His face is thin and pale, hair flowing to curl at his shoulders. The man says a cursory glance around the chapel, hair sweeping like flames across his face. “You’re new.”

“I was asked to come here by the Archbishop a few months ago.” Chrollo beckons the man toward a pew.

“How can I help you, my child.”

“Oh, Father.” The man seems mournful suddenly, nearly throwing himself down into a pew. “You can’t.”

“God says all his children can be saved.” The man laughs, hollow and forced, and Chrollo feels as though cold water has been splashed across him when the stranger swivels to look him in the eye.

“I’m not one of God’s children.” Yellow eyes gleam at him, full of trickery and sin, and Chrollo clutches at his rosary. He instinctively jumps back, and the demon grins. “ _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus-_ “ Cold fingers choke the words off to die in his throat. He gasps for air, windpipe crushing under the demon’s supernatural grip.

“Father. We were just starting to have fun, and you had to go and ruin it.” The demon seems to pout, fangs poking into his bottom lip. He squeezes, and Chrollo claws at his hands, pressing the rosary hard into flesh. The demon howls, dropping him to clutch at the smoldering wound, and Chrollo scrambles back out of the pew, choking for breath.

“You can’t be here.” Chrollo spits out, when he has enough of a mind to speak, cowering against the confession box.

He starts his exorcism again, watching as the man advances on him with a predatory smile. The demon doesn’t even flinch at the words, even as Chrollo shouts them out across his empty temple, echoing the latin high into the bell tower. “Tsk, tsk Father.” The demon waves his hand, and Chrollo feels himself soaring momentarily before landing in a heap near the altar. He tastes blood on his lips, trickling down from his temple, and despite the blurriness of his vision he can see the demon crouching, feels his face being yanked to meet cold yellow eyes. “I used to rule this place.”

“This is a house of God.” Chrollo can feel a hot tear tracking down his cheek, mixing with the blood on his face, and the demon smiles wider.

“Are you afraid, Father?” Chrollo shakes his head, closes his eyes as the demon settles across his lap, ripping a hand through his hair.

“You can’t lie to me, you know.” The demon yanks his head back until their noses are touching, pulling so hard Chrollo forces himself to look at the sinful creature above him. “I see all.” He pauses, momentarily letting Chrollo slump to the floor.

“There wasn’t supposed to be anyone here tonight. It’s why I picked tonight.” The demon seems to be reasoning with himself, atoning for a coming sin. Yellow eyes flicker from the altar to the stained glass windows, and then back.

“You picked tonight?” The demon turns his attention back to him.

“I will spare you, I think.” The demon holds up his wounded hand. “However, you ruined my favorite vessel, so I should think I’ll return the favor. An eye for an eye.”

The broken scream that rings through the cathedral can only be drowned out by the peals at sunrise for mass. The priests find him in the morning, delirious from pain and bleeding, muttering under his breath. He wakes up in the infirmary, darkness settling through the windows.

“How long have I been asleep?” The nurse tending him nearly jumps out of her skin when he grasps her arm.

She stares at him, timidly smoothing a bedsheet on the empty cot next to his own. “Three days, Father. Do you feel better?” He doesn’t know how he feels. Chrollo thinks he might be suffering some sort of mental break, perhaps God is simply testing him.

“My head hurts. Did I hit it?” The girl looks even more frightened than before as he raises a hand to his forehead, feeling soft cloth and a stickiness that could only be blood.

“I’m going to get Father Walsh.” She scurries out before Chrollo can prod further. He wants to lie back down, wants to sleep again. But the yellow eyed demon rules his thoughts, taunting and stinking of evil. He wills the thoughts away. _Our Father, who art in Heaven, Hallowed be thy name._

“Hello Father Chrollo.” When he’d come to the church, he had forsaken his last name. He doesn’t remember what it was, his mind a fog concerning his past. He doesn’t mind it. The older priest is smiling softly at him, a gentle expression covering his features. Chrollo tries to sit up, out of respect for his elder, his teacher, but a gentle hand at his shoulder stops him.

“What happened?”

“I was hoping once you awoke you could answer that question for me.” Father Walsh chuckles low, retracting his hand back into his lap.

“I-I don’t know.” Chrollo whispers, throat tight. He does know, and lying is a sin-but he knows he cannot tell the elders what had happened three nights prior. They will laugh at him, taunt him, tell him the mighty Crusaders had long cleansed the earth of the underlings of Hell and he must have been mistaken. So he lies. His head is throbbing, and he longs to take the bandage off. The demon had touched him, had said something, and the dull ache will not subside.

“I’ll have the nurse re-dress your wound.” Father Walsh can sense his discomfort, or perhaps it’s etched into his features. The young woman from before inches forward, flitting around to remove the gauze from his head. Father Walsh stares, stares and stares. Chrollo feels sick. “Leave this place!” Father Walsh is on his feet and bellowing before Chrollo has a moment to breathe.

He touches his head, briefly, and staggers to his feet. He stumbles through the hallway, sunlight trickling through the stained glass, and the priests whisper, unintelligible remarks, and someone spits at him. He doesn't stop running until he is at the village gate. Chrollo sobs, body shaking violently with his tears, and he glances tearfully at his reflection in the steel gate. He vomits into the dirt, until his stomach is empty and his throat burns. A cross is burned, ugly red and black, into his forehead. Upside down. The mark of the beast. He can never go back. He briefly considers turning back, as he walks into the woods, following the dirt path well trodden by carriages and men alike. Instead he pulls his hair loose over his face, inky black strands dancing in his eyeline. He’s unsure how long he sits in the dirt. He’d devoted his life to serving God. _Thy kingdom come, thy will be done._ Chrollo leaves his robes by the side of the road and continues down the path. By nightfall he’s shivering, undershirt and thin slacks doing nothing to shelter him from the elements. He settles beneath a lonely oak tree, towering above its counterparts. It doesn’t take long for his eyes to grow heavy, the sounds of nature roaring in his ears. God’s creations had always filled him with a sense of peace.

“I thought you’d be long dead.” A familiar baritone rouses him out of sleep, yellow eyes blinking at him from the opposite end of the clearing. A sudden, heady rush of hatred fulls Chrollo’s entire form. He’s on his feet and charging the demon before he has a clear moment to think about what a monumentally stupid decision it is. “ _You_! You should have _killed_ me.” The demon just giggles, dodging every swing and kick Chrollo throws.

He catches his throat and slams him into the earth on the next beat, teeth bared in a lilting half smile. “I like to play with my food.” The demon brushes the hair out of Chrollo’s eyes, a tender juxtaposition to the bruising grip on his throat. “Bad manners, I know, but who has time for cotillion when you’re running the underworld?” Chrollo feels whatever color was in his complexion leave his face.

“I’m sorry, it’s been a truly stressful day for me- you’re the Devil?”

“That would be my official title. Friends and food alike call me Hisoka.” Hisoka drops his full weight across Chrollo’s hips, grounding him into the dust. _Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us._

“I feel I can safely assume my little gift to you was ill received?” Hisoka leans close to press warm lips to the still fresh branding. Chrollo whimpers, whether it be from pain or contact he is quite unsure.

“This is your idea of a gift?”

Chrollo shoves at him, weak, and Hisoka seems satisfied that he won’t be running off. “Well what would you call it?”

“A fucking curse is what I would call it.” He tastes iron as a palm connects with his cheek.

“Now Father, is that any way for a servant of God to speak!” Hisoka exclaims, as if he were scolding a petulant child. Chrollo wishes he would poof into a cloud of ash at the mere mention of God’s name. He is of course, just not that lucky. He wipes at his mouth, blood sluggish to coat his teeth, and Hisoka watches.

“Aren’t you wondering why I’m here?”

“Not really.” Of course he is, he isn’t anyone of high importance to Satan. He was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, and hasn’t he paid dearly enough?

“You would think after so many years of biblical teachings your nasty habit of lying would have been curbed.”

“Perhaps I’m just very good at it.”

Hisoka’s mouth turns up slightly. “My, such a serpent's tongue you have. I fear you chose the wrong life path, dear Father. Thievery would have suited you far better.” Chrollo hadn’t been given much of a choice. He’d been dumped on the steps of a parish when he was just a child, and raised in the faith as he was, it seemed the only viable option.

“You creatures just love sin.” Chrollo feels his entire body flush as Hisoka assesses him, eyes roaving across now bared skin.

“Aye, we do.” Hisoka licks his lips, and Chrollo briefly thinks back to when the demon had called him food. “You were made for sin Father. Yet- you have led a life of purity. Such a waste.”

“It’s not been a waste.” Chrollo argues, and it hadn’t. He helped a great many people, the lost with nowhere to turn. He’d listened to their grief and mourning and lifted their chins and spirits heavensward. He was proud of what he’d done.

Hisoka is reading his mind. Chrollo can tell by the look on his face. He makes no effort to conceal his emotions. “Have you ever been taken to bed, Father?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“Such a waste.” Hisoka tsks, slowly moving closer. Chrollo wills his limbs to move, to put his hands up to shove at the demon's chest. He’d had impure thoughts, for he was, after all, but a man, and he had long since quelled any flame of desire. “Do you want me to show you what God has kept from you?” _Lead us not into temptation._

“Yes.” His voice is barely above a whisper, catching in his throat and for a brief moment he speculates he hasn’t been heard. A hand reaches to tangle in his hair and soft lips are pressing against his, and _oh. He’s been heard_. Chrollo balls his hands into fists at his sides, wanting to touch and explore, but fearing what that will get him.

“Touch me, Chrollo.” Hisoka commands him, gently tilting his head to gain access to his neck, laying nips and kisses down the strong lines of it. Chrollo does, hands moving of their own accord to dance across the demon’s broad shoulders, down over sinewy arms. It's odd, kissing another man. There’s a battle unlike with women, who often surrendered to the whims of their dominant partner. He’s only kissed one woman, a nun, and they’d both been beaten to be made as an example. There’s a fire, unfurling in his chest, and deepening to shoot down the planes of his body, dancing with the touch of Hisoka’s nimble fingers. A soft sound tumbles out of his throat as the demon slips his hands down the back of Chrollo’s dusty pants, yanking him closer. He fists a hand through Hisokas blood red hair, and Hisoka nips his lips so hard he tastes copper.

“Ow.” _But deliver us from evil._

“What?”

“You bit me!” Chrollo pouts, and Hisoka ignores him, hooking a leg behind his knees and sending them crashing into the dirt. The air is knocked out of his lungs, and Hisoka stares at him, heaving for air.

“Do you know why I didn’t kill you in that church, Father?” Chrollo momentarily thinks about correcting him, as Hisoka teases two fingers at the corner of his mouth. He lets the demon press inside, pads of his fingers coarse against his tongue. Chrollo shakes his head slightly, whimpers as Hisoka works his pants down past his hips, tangling them beneath his own thighs. “Truthfully, I’m not so sure myself.” Hisoka removes his fingers, trailing them down to press at Chrollo’s entrance, and he sucks in a breath past his teeth at the unfamiliar burn. “Something about you, it intrigued me.”

“Well,” Chrollo pants, working open Hisoka’s shirt to run his hands over the well formed chest. “I can’t say I’m disappointed you didn’t.” The pain is slowly giving way to a hot, tilting pleasure, and Hisoka presses his lips to his forehead again, soothing across the burned cross. He stares down at Chrollo, yellow eyes blown, and momentarily stops working his fingers, slowly dragging them out to clench at his thigh. Chrollo stares back, willing himself to speak but finding he can do naught but stare, memorizing every age line, every small nick and cut of the demon’s face. He almost doesn’t register the burn, stronger than before, as Hisoka painstakingly buries himself. He can feel the hot tears falling, faster with each passing moment, and Hisoka tuts at him, licking them off his face and pressing his salty lips against his own.

“Don’t cry, Father.” Hisoka’s rumble has taken an air of sorrow, cut with arousal, and he pets at Chrollo’s hair, smoothing back the sweat slicked strands.

He keeps pressing small kisses against Chrollo’s mouth, slowly dragging out before pressing in again with a low moan. The pain lesses incrementally, until it’s wholly replaced and Chrollo is clawing down the demon’s back, tiny moans punching out of his throat at every thrust. Hisoka abandons all semblance of former lovemaking, pinning Chrollo’s hips to the dirt to slam into him bruisingly hard. Chrollo feels as though he might split in two, a steadying hand choking off his air, and when white spots cloud his vision he thinks he might die. Hisoka relents, working thin fingers across his cock where it’s trapped between them, and Chrollo can feel his arousal mounting despite the abusive snap of Hisoka’s hips, and something truly depraved inside him has been awakened, a tiny little voice in his head screaming for more.

Hisoka seems to hear it, and pulls his head flush to the ground by his hair, forcing him to look into those horrible yellow eyes. “You take cock like a _whore_ , Father.” The demon rasps, and Chrollo whines high at the words, delirious and drunk and wanting nothing more. “You were made to be desecrated, a temple meant to be laid to ruin. And how they kept you from this for so long.” Hisoka moans, pace stuttering. “ _Blasphemous_.” Chrollo can’t form anything but Hisoka’s name with his lips, a small whimper punctuating as he’s bodily lifted until their bodies are flush.

“Please, Hisoka, I-I’m close.” He begs for it, much to the demon’s unabashed pleasure, and Hisoka bites him once more before he succumbs, legs shaking and heart stammering in his chest. Hisoka finishes nearly in tandem, low growl curling into Chrollo’s ears, and they clutch each other, spent and covered in dirt and come.

“Look at you.” Hisoka purrs, eyes once again gentle and big, stroking his hands across the priest’s face.

“I’m going to the furthest depths of hell.” Chrollo laments, pushing himself away from the demon to curl on the ground, body aching. _For thine is the kingdom._

“Mm. I suppose you may, if I have anything to do with it. Your new life has just begun, Chrollo. Don’t look so glum.” Hisoka curls behind him, warm and heavy at his back, and Chrollo sighs, debating whether he should try to run.

“I’m not glum.” He protests, and strong arms wrap around his chest to pull him closer, lulling him to sleep.

“Are you going to kill me now?” _And the power, and the glory, forever and ever._

“No.” Hisoka chuckles. kissing the nape of his neck. “I don’t prey on newborns. And I think I’ve become rather fond of you, little lamb.” Chrollo moves closer to the demon, eyes suddenly very heavy, and despite common sense, feels safe enough to drift out of consciousness.

 _Amen_.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, come say hi on tumblr @/morningham 
> 
> thank yew for taking the time to read you depraved little fuckers. <3 
> 
> comments, kudos and general feedback make my heart go kablooey


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